A Self Realized Critic-Scribbled Story

"To be authentic is literally to be your own author, to discover your own native energies and desires, and then to find your own way of acting on them." - Warren G. Bennis

One fine sunny evening' I waited & waited, but there was no rain, Meanwhile,I tell you my story that I scribbled in vein. With ease and comfort, paralleled to my feel, I wish for all the love, and comfort that could thy heal. A little tenderness & comfort that I could steal, for I did not know who could possibly lend me some, who had the zeal.

Self Realization was the best invention and discovery that led me to know my existence and beliefs of righteous and wrong. For not always had I been a sage with perfect ratio of human tendencies in approach asking me for a better performance on personal & social front.

As I grew, my stagnated knowledge gained experience and I was fascinated with urges and materialistic comfort, then suddenly, my inner-self guided me to a more wiser-me' & l knew, I would and not change for nothing more, for the change was good, that I already have initiated at a much younger age  & it did not matter at all how someone believed or perceived me to be. For I knew who,what and how I was & I was satisfied with the life I lived & in the process, I had made my points clear. The only thing mattered to me was having transparency with the 'spirits and souls' living & dead. Humanity seemed to have crumbled up falsely, disguised as friends, but I knew it was of no good.

I still look upon the sky to study the geometric's of a cloudy shades of grey & blue, a sketch - a starry calligraphy & thy drizzles & thee rain drops, rainbow and sun and the moon. A phase passes, & a new one comes up - morning, noon, evening & night that passes by & everything that I always wanted stays right over my head & beneath my foot. Nothing else, & no one else matters.

"I had been shy, giving way to the witty morning sky, disclosing much ,reserved to droplets tender of a dawning dew. Not many that could stand the sight, for few are those, en-route to thy plight. Life and death is just a game, in hope I shine brightest even after, I  am gone, in fond remembrance, shall exist making worth thy name".

"If you had someone who talked to you like you sometimes talked to yourself, would you continue to hang around with thee for a lifetime?"

Thanks to the power of our inner critics, most of us have a very poor opinion of ourselves. Yet self - contempt merely keeps us miserable and stuck in our mediocrity. Unkind criticism is never part of a meaningful critique of you. Its purpose is not to teach or to help, its purpose is to punish." - Anonymous